LENA Time doth take and time doth give,
And thus these gifts are cause to live,
Yet poison comes in pretty bottles,
And often is the vision mottled,
Black and white fade into grey,
As what was clear is torn astray,
The good you feel may blanch and boil,
As ripe fresh fruit is soon to spoil,
And never can the taint be told,
Until your soul is all but sold,
The beautiful vision turning dark,
As Grassy plains grow barren and stark,
Then the blow will fall much harder,
Unknown until the world doth shatter,
Cracking, breaking, plunging, falling,
Until what is now hate was once called loving.